


Birds of Gold

by Revo42



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: :), Adventure, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dream Smp, Dream and George, Dream’s too rough, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hugging, Injury, Internal Conflict, Journey, M/M, Minecraft, Pining, Severe Injury, Slow Burn, Well - Freeform, dream is in emotional turmoil, dreamnotfound, dreamwastaken - Freeform, end of the world yay, for a while, georgenotfound - Freeform, i promise I’m better at writing than tagging, mcyt - Freeform, this could also be friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revo42/pseuds/Revo42
Summary: Falling through the emotional downward spiral that was his hidden emotions, there is a single book that Dream holds more dear to his heart than the moments he gets to spend staring at the sky and watching the sunset line birds in gold. It’s a book full of manipulative schemes and battle plans, but the back pages hold poems of brown eyes, brown hair, and a smile that could easily cast a brighter gold lining onto hawks than the sun could ever dream of.A story of a world falling into darkness, and a journey taken to save it by a menace and the man who fills him with more light than he could ever know.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi yes I really hope you read and like my book. I will be trying my best to upload at a reasonable rate,,,
> 
> Ps. The reason I wrote this in the SMP universe was specifically for the purpose of keeping these characters in gave separate from their actual person. I wrote it like this to avoid shipping real life people 👍 
> 
> Thank you for you time:)

Saying that dream was in over his head would have been an understatement.  


He was in over the biggest mountain in their known territory and he was suffocating from the height of it as the atmosphere took every ounce of air in his lungs against his will. 

Even now, he was quite literally over a mountain. The sunset brought him a kind of peace that nothing else really could after a long day. When the breeze blew, it would catch his boots, and for a split second he’d feel like the hands of the breeze were finally pulling him over to a demise he couldn’t escape. 

He was so good at escaping that it made his eyes blur with frustration. 

There were lots of things that made him frustrated, one of which was the fact that he was seemingly invincible. The thought beckoned him to sit closer to the edge. If he fell, would he really die? 

He’d had that thought more times than he could remember. 

_ I’m so tired... _

He’d also thought regularly. 

He had a very hyperactive mind. One in which held the ability to form incoherent thoughts, or just ones that were sorely implausible. 

Maybe if he were to lean over the side, he’d catch himself on a jutting rock, sure... but maybe he’d fly. 

He could barely keep his eyes on the birds traveling south for the winter, as right on the edges of their wings was the gold that the sun shone their way, and it blinded him. 

His green eyes would have sparkled, and his freckles would have sang, but they were covered by the object of his defiance to identification. 

_ I’m so sorry. _

He thought. 

He was sorry for the manipulation and the micromanagement of the souls trying their hardest to prove they can recklessly live free of consequence. 

He thought maybe if he could keep people in his corner where the words  _ I’m trying so, so hard _ were dimly illuminated against the wall, and where he could offer seemingly sound explanations for all of his deemed unjustifiable actions, then he could fix the world’s problems. 

He thought that if he could know every single move that the people he called chess pieces made, maybe he could stop them from falling off the board. But then again, he also thought that maybe jumping off of a cliff would be the thing that teaches him how to fly. 

He was jealous to say the least. The birds with wings lined in gold could see him, but they would never know his problems. Though, their wings were no longer lined in gold, and it was getting colder outside. 

He stood up and made his way to his base. Crawl spaces weren’t anywhere close to the top on a list of things that he enjoyed, but he was ready to do just about anything to keep his privacy permanent. 

The floor creaked as he got up off of his hands and knees and made his way over to a chest on the other side of the small room. 

As he rummaged around in it, the considerable amount of times he’d stayed the night in his secret base lately began to cross his mind. 

It’s not like he really had a choice.

Once he found what he was looking for, Dream pulled the leather bound book from the wooden box before latching it closed once again. 

He didn’t have a single hint of his identity on or in that book. If a soul ever got their hands on it, Dream would hope that he couldn’t fly if he fell from that ledge. 

It was Dream’s god book. It held all of his war strategy, all the dumbest plans he’d had, some that even succeeded. It held information on the current terrors of the world, as there’d been a recent uprise in the demon and monster population during the night. 

No one knew why this was happening, and the people of the Badlands had actually started to develop methods of holding the mobs off from L’Manberg for the time being, but their efforts were slowly decreasing in longterm helpfulness. 

The reason Dream had been spending so many nights in his crawl space was simply because he kept leaving too late to get anywhere else in time. 

At least, that was the best idea he could come up with when Sapnap had asked. It was the only explanation he knew for a fact that he could give without stuttering as he lied through his teeth. 

This god book also consisted of poetry. It was all stored in the back, far away from all of his manipulative war plans and conspiracies. It held rhymes of brown eyes, brown hair, and a breathtaking smile.

_ I am so, so sorry. _

He latched the book shut, but he didn't stow it away into the chest like he usually did. he geld it in his hands, calloused from years of wielding weapons, smiling at the irony of the covers appearance. That book meant the world to him and then some, but it was just yellow pages held together by a piece of old leather with a broken buckle on the front. It had no words on the outside, no symbols, no enchantments, and not even a name that a finder could potentially return the piece to.

His hope was that if his most prized possession ever was to meet its demise in an unknown location, that its lucky savior would deem it simply too boring to even open. Maybe they’d leave it next to a river where all of his evil ideas and disgusting wishes could wash away and die. 

Or maybe if they opened it, they’d open it from the back forward and instantly realize that if there was one person it had no chance of belonging to, it was Dream. 

He took off his mask. He wanted to read without the off white obstructing his vision for once. 

When he took it off, he felt a shudder run down his neck. If there was a mirror in that room, he’d have been able to see how vulnerable he looked. 

He was only human, he was just a man with a beating heart and rosy cheeks under human eyes— a heart that was aching and eyes that held sorrow. 

He wanted all of these people he’d gotten stuck in the universe with to be like any kind of happy family, and sometimes he wonders if the role he bestowed upon himself was the problem that prevented that from happening. 

It was incredibly simple to forget that Dream was a person. It was easy to forget the humanity of something that didn’t act or appear human. It was easy to forget that things which were never injured, were in fact full of warm blood. 

In recent weeks, a joke holding that very idea had been tossed around. He had no clue where the idea had originated,but he’d found a book up on the ledge where he enjoyed spending much of his time. He had no idea who left it there, or who thought it would be a good idea to say how fun it would be to start trying to draw blood from Dream in an attempt to see if he even had any, because the writer wanted to prove that he didn’t. 

Behind his jacket, boots, mask and gloves, there wasn’t a single hint that he felt things other than greed and hysteria. He’d learned to accept that though, or so he thought. 

All he felt when he’d see people take tentative steps away from him was joy and power. It felt so undeniably good when he remembered that he could wrap anyone he wanted around his finger out of fear by being manipulative, but sometimes he wondered why he had to be that way. 

He wondered why he couldn’t just take off his mask and be mentally sound for a change. It was for the reason that that just wasn’t a possible thing 

Behind his eyes, that was impossible. Hell, even the birds lined in gold that saw everything he wished he could see, but from an arial view, were incapable of seeing a world in which he wasn’t exactly the person he was now. A selfish, egotistical-

“Dream!”

His mask was back over his face in an instant. He heard the unmistakable screech of a fallen angel through the crawl space he was on the other side of. There were only five people who knew about the place where he’d sleep, and only two of them had the guts or permission to actually be there.

The book was shoved under his pillow. 

“Bad?”

“Yes! Help!” Dream saw a cloudy, gray hand gripping the boards of his floor for dear life, so he grabbed it and began pulling the angel through. 

“Bad, that entrance wasn’t designed with someone of your... structure... in mind.” Dream couldn’t help but glance to Bad’s wings as he shook them out and pushed up his glasses. 

“I know, I’m sorry but,” he pulled a side bag from his shoulder and set it on Dream’s bed. “I found something _super_ important.”

He’d been seconds away from kicking the angel out despite the dangers that probably lurked right outside his crawl space, but his words had more than peaked the man’s interest. 

While Bad dug a bunch of messed up papers from his bag, Dream realized how much respect he held for him, as he’d been able to force himself outside at night to simply deliver Dream a message that could have waited till tomorrow. No one had the courage to do that anymore. 

“I think I know how we can get rid of the monsters!” He spoke with his usual enthusiastic way of speech. 

Dream uncrossed his arms. “Shit, really?”

“Language, and yes!” He showed him a poorly aged picture that depicted a bunch of otherworldly beings casting their arms up to some kind of light. 

Dream took it from Bad’s hold and scanned it a while longer before turning it over for good measure. 

A map.

“You’re not... seriously suggesting...”

“ _Yes_.” He could hear the excitement radiating from his words, though it soon turned sour. “But... I can’t.” 

The smile that had been pulling behind dreams mask faltered as well. 

“What do you mean you _can’t_? If you could find this mysterious item and bring it back here maybe it could finally get rid of all the-“

“I _know_ , Dream. I promise you I would do this if I could but... he’s still not doing any better.”

Dream was able to recall the previous weeks sensitive events. Skeppy sustained severe injuries after being attacked by a hostile spider during the daytime. It had been a huge shock to everyone as that simply wasn’t something that was supposed to happen. On top of that, his body was taking the venom badly, and he didn’t seem to be getting better any time soon. 

It was killing Bad. If there was one thing Bad couldn’t do, it was leave Skeppy at this time. 

“I was hoping that maybe you could take this and find it. I mean, if there was anyone that could make it back alive, it’s you.” His words were laced with the hope equivalent of tooth rotting sugar, and it was making Dream’s stomach turn. 

There it was again— the ego inflation. But with it came, once again, his promise of immortality, and just for a second, the two things almost convinced him to jump on the mission immediately.

But Dream wasn’t an idiot. 

“Give me one reason to do this for everyone. Give me _one reason_ why I should be the one to go out and sacrifice my life to follow some piece of shit map that may or may not lead to a bunch of useless trash.”

Maybe it was all a little too harsh, but that was turning into something that Dream cared less and less about every day. 

“ _Language_!” He balled his fists, but he wasn’t threatening to Dream. “Because! Don’t you want people to finally see you as a hero?”

His words were like a knife to Dream’s heart. He simply ignored it. 

“How did you even find this?” He changed the subject. 

“I didn’t find it. George did, goodness.” He thumped the back of the paper in Dream’s hand. “And we don’t know this will be useful, but we’re running out of options.” 

Dream was scariest when he was thinking. 

He was the most terrifying when he was simply standing still and inspecting his surroundings. It was even more unsettling to a person who happened to _be_ his settings. 

He stood there, unreadable and unmoving, telling everything inside of Bad to step back or get away. He knew Dream lashed out, and even though he also knew it was for strategic reason, he couldn’t help but fear that Dream’s strategy involved his excommunication at times.

Everyone did. Not a soul knew what was swimming around in that pretty mind of his. For all they knew, it could have been the Loch Ness monster. 

Dream then shifted, setting the map and depiction on his bed before giving Bad his undivided attention. 

“So say I do go get the... whatever, this is.” He took a step closer, Bad took a step back. 

“Say I decide to go and save the world or whatever you’re asking me to do.” He took another step forward, and Bad’s wings hit the wall over the crawl space. 

“How do you suppose you’ll survive while I’m away? In case you haven’t noticed. I singlehandedly make up about seventy percent of every faction’s territorial defense.”

“Okay...” Bad couldn’t keep his gaze on Dream, and he kept glancing past him which wasn’t the easiest task. “Until you get back I can ally the Badlands with your faction, and maybe L’Manb-“

“ _Bad_.”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer immediately. Dream was patient though, he always gave him time to speak. 

“Yes?”

“What if I _don’t_ ‘get back’? What are you gonna do then?”

Bad seemed to actually lighten up at that, no longer threatened by the idea of Dream being merely a foot from him. 

“Ooh! I was actually going to bring that up! Since he found the map, I actually think it would be a good idea if you brought G-“

“No.”

Bad looked at him with confusion gracing his visible features. 

“What..? But why?”

Dream knew Bad was right. He was incredibly intelligent, and he _knew_ that.If anyone should go, it was the able-bodied person who found the map in the first place. 

_No_ , Dream’s reasoning was more personally deep rooted than that. 

“No. I can’t bring George. I won’t. I can’t bring Sapnap because you guys need him right now.” In that moment though, he made up his mind that he would be going. 

Nothing was going to change his mind anymore. 

“I’ll find someone tomorrow. Or you can present this to L’Manberg and ask them for a recruit, but I doubt anyone from that place would be willing to go anywhere alone with me. And I can’t take more than one person away from arms...” He was thinking aloud for quite some time before he caught himself and halted his rambling. 

“It’s getting late, Bad.” He stepped back to give him space. “I think you should go back to your friends and.. y’know...”

Bad nodded. “Yeah.”

He got down to exit through the crawl space before glancing at the other from over his shoulder, his black feathers dragging back on the ground behind him. 

“Dream?”

“Yeah?” He’d taken a seat on his bed. 

“George... is going to be very upset when he finds out that you won’t let him go.” 

Bad waited patiently for a response. 

Dream leaned back on his bed, letting out a sigh that held no distinct emotion towards Bad’s previous words. 

“Then I guess I have to leave before he ever has time to figure out that I’m gone.”


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two find themselves delving deeper into the unknown, along with their own minds. An accident ensues, leaving George alone and terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Apologies for not posting, but I started to lose hope in this till a person bookmarked it lol. That like, one person is the only reason I wrote this second chapter, so you can thank them if you like this 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Tell me who the  fuck  you think you are. Right now, because I think I’m pissed.”

The masked mercenary turned to face a boy of blue, with a hand holding onto the doorframe as if it would betray him upon letting go. 

“ Excuse me ?”

George tilted his head to the side, taking a step into the community house, cringing as his glance to the floor reminded him of his accidental involvement in sick jokes. 

His boot clicked roughly against the wood, and he finally abandoned his hold on the front entrance. 

“I just got a letter from Bad telling me tha-“

“That I’m not letting you come with me.”

George’s tongue felt knotted as Dream began taking steps towards  _ him  _ this time. His walking speed mimicked his tone, bitter, —like he was being held by the neck while salt poured into his teeth— and slow. The metal soles of his boots clicked against the floor with an edge in their pitch that George’s steps didn’t have. Each hit to the floor put another spike through George’s resolve. 

“I hate to break it to you, but running in here and raising your voice at me for something I’m not changing my mind on, seems a little fruitless. Don’t you think?”

One of George’s eyebrows rose to the just visible point at the top of his glasses.

_ He tested the waters.  _

“And you think... that not letting me come with you is a good idea?” Dream finally gave him the rightful attention he deserved. He paused his room glances and the eyes of his mask stared into George’s glasses. He didn’t speak, though. 

_ So George took another step in.  _

“There isn’t a  single reason that should hinder my allowance.  _ I  _ found the map.” He bit. “ _ I ’ m  _ the one that gave it to Bad and asked him to tell you about it at a time when I couldn’t.” Dream didn’t seem to be buying in. He crossed his arms, affirming his stance as he tilted his head to George. 

Said boy took another step towards him, and enough to be within arm’s reach. 

“There isn’t a single person holding even the smallest chance of going with you that isn’t from our faction, and me and Sap are the only one here that aren’t afraid of being alone with you.”

Dream’s tongue pulled across the edges of his teeth behind his mask. Maybe if George could have seen, then he would have been more scared. 

“Then I’ll bring two people.”

“You can’t _afford_ to take two people, wether they die with you or die here.”

Dream turned his back on George and grabbed a small mason jar filled to the brim with tiny green pearls, stuffing it into his bag. 

“Then I’ll bring Sapnap.”

“You need Sap here for border control. He’s the  only person other than you who’s strong enough to use the canons. We both know that.” 

Dream carefully put back together a flint and steel kit, slipping it into his bag along with the pearls. 

“Then I’ll go by myself.” He spoke as if it were the most obvious conclusion in the world. 

“Are you  listening to yourself?” He grabbed Dream’s shoulder, making an attempt to turn the taller around to face him. To which the man responded by gripping George’s wrist in a hold akin to that of iron cuffs. 

“You’re not coming with me George!” He shouted, jerking his hand as he yelled. “You’re staying here! You’re gonna stop bothering me! And you’re gonna forget this ever-“

“ Dream .” George’s words were pleading, and they worked their way past his mask and the straps adorning his body, straight to his guarded heart in the blink of an eye. He dropped George’s hand. 

“What?” It didn’t sound like a question, but it did sound breathless 

George balled his fists like he wanted to use them. Like he wanted to see just how unbreakable Dream’s mask really was. 

“If you go alone... you’re gonna die.”

The taller scoffed. 

“ Seriously ?You think I’m going to _die_? God, I can’t believe you wasted my time like that. I’m not going to die, George.” He couldn’t help the laugh that laced his words. 

George’s head shook, and he bit his tongue, but even that couldn’t conceal the frustration that flooded out of him in the form of his words. 

“You’re so self centered and egotistical. You really think you can’t die.” He continued to speak, as Dream was now seeming to ignore him. He said lots of things he didn’t mean when he was angry 

“That or... maybe you know you’re not invincible. In which case, what did I _do_ to you?” His words fell as genuine as they were when they met Dream’s ears. “What makes you so positive that I’ll waste your time, slow you down, get you killed?”

Dream halted, his deep breath visible with the rising of his shoulder blades.

_ I have the world on my shoulders, you terrible, beautiful idiot. I’m carrying the clouds and I can’t carry you too. If I try, even at my best, I could fail you, and I’d never forget your fall. I could never blame the clouds you sat upon because I’m the one who held it all.  _

“ _Fine_.”

George faltered. 

“What..?” 

“Go.” Dream pulled his bag over his shoulder, and spoke with a heavy heart. “Go get ready. You’re coming with me.”

God knows how he’d live a day without those gorgeous lips anyway.

They left. 

They followed the next sunrise like it was a brick path, and it led them out to the plains. 

They left with fifty gold and thirty pearls— with four pieces of steel and two jackets, with one map and a shared heavy heart. 

George said goodbyes to his friends as Dream waited patiently for him by a large apple tree. He’d wanted nothing more than to reach up and pick one— to taste it. But that was a task that couldn’t be done without the removal of his mask, and he couldn’t let anyone know what he looked like. 

Not a single person he knew had seen a single inch of his skin. He couldn’t risk a single person thinking of him as anything other than inhuman, risk him losing his status of power. 

Consequently, no one had ever seen hispink cheeks, or his dust of freckles like a paint brush had lazily flicked soft dots across his nose. No one had ever seen his cute smiles or his soft, blond hair. And no one ever would, because no one would ever see his angry green eyes, or the scar pulling over the right one that dragged down his face and over his lips, all the way down to his chin. 

Their walk through the woods had been uneventful. Nothing short of reminders as to why Dream didn’t want George coming with him in the first place. 

Every time George’s guard would drop, or he’d get spooked by a simple rustling of leaves, Dream would have to nudge him back to reality with a gloved hand. 

It was more for him than it was for George, though. It was less of him wanting to assure George that he was okay and more of Dream reminding himself that George was still there, untouched. 

When they made it to the plaines, Dream’s nerves were racing at an untouched mileage. They hadn’t been attacked in a suspiciously long time, and the plaines were a phenomenal place for it to begin. 

As if on cue with his thoughts, the sound of broken strings and low hissing filled his senses, he turned to see a skeleton, seated atop a giant spider— it’s bow pulled tighter than a violin string, and holding an arrow aimed straight for George’s skull.

George took a step back and Dream placed himself between the two, a loud crack filling his ears as his back hit a tree on the edge of the forest. 

The arrow had penetrated Dream’s mask, leaving a crack in the same place his scar was, coincidentally. The force knocked his head back, and he was lucky he wasn’t concussed from his impact with a tree. 

George had nocked an arrow, and was seconds away from letting it fly before Dream slid his backpack from his shoulders and, in a fit of rage, threw it at the skeleton. It was knocked from its steed, a pile of bones on the floor as Dream armed his axe and threw it at the spider. 

The insect died instantly as its skull was split. 

Dream retrieved his axe as George stared, dumbfounded at him for his actions. 

“How...” George’s eye twitched and he ran to catch up with Dream who’d begun walking. He almost tripped over an old leather book, so he picked it up, assuming it fell from Dream’s bag when it was thrown. “How did... I didn’t know you could do that.”

”There’s lots of things you don’t know about me.”

Dream wiped the blood from his axe with his sleeve, sticking it headfirst back into his backpack.

“Oh yeah?” George waved the book at Dream’s back. “Are they written in here?” 

He glanced at George over his shoulder and quickly snatched the book from him once he realized what he was holding. He stuffed it back into his bag and George grabbed the arrow in his mask. 

“Hey! Watch it!” He put a hand on the mask to hold it onto his face as George had pulled him close. 

“What the heck? Why won’t it come out?”

Dream laughed. 

“I don’t know if you saw, George, but I got shot in the face. It’s not gonna come out easy.”

As Dream said that, George put a hand on Dream’s mask and proceeded to use the other to pull the arrow out, the same way you’d pull an arrow out of a target. 

“George, hey!” He put his hand over the one George had planted on his face, adjusting his stance to keep from being pulled forward. 

“What the hell is this thing  made  of?” He broke the arrow, but then just grabbed the shorter piece that was still lodged into the mask. He kept pulling. 

“George!” He said his name again, but there was no denying the light playfulness of it. His smile was hidden, but it was contagious. George grinned wide, even beginning to laugh as he tried to dislodge the ammo from Dream’s face. 

“What the fucking _fuck_?” His grip became weak as he laughed. “It’s just not coming out!”

Dream tried to pull back without having the mask break, but it cracked again. 

“George, please. It’s breaking.” 

They released each other, both stumbling a few steps backwards. Dream reached up and broke the rest of the wood from the arrow, the head still lodged into the white— he’d deal with that later. 

George had completely forgotten about the book, and that was more than a relief to Dream. Not that George would be able to read the back pages if he even got the chance to. Dream had taken special... _precautionary measures_. They were against George specifically. He made damn sure he’d never be able to read a single piece of his heart that was poured into the back of that book. 

“I want you to teach me that thing.” George put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It wasn’t freezing, but it was almost January, and the weather was cold. 

“What thing?” Dream copied him, his hands falling into the pockets of his green jacket. 

“Y’know, George pulled his hands out and mimicked the physical movement of throwing an imaginary axe. “The thing.”

Sometimes, Dream really wished that George could see the expressions he gave him at times. Especially when they were so funny. 

“You want me to teach you how to throw an axe?”

George nodded. 

“Yeah. I think it would be a good skill to have.”

Dream pretended to think about it for a moment, but then his strategist kicked in and he started to wonder if that was a good idea. If George learned how to throw an axe, would he use it against him? 

He mentally slapped himself for the thought. 

_ God, what’s wrong with me? _

He spared George a glance. George, who was waiting ever so patiently for the answer he deserved. 

As Dream said _yes_ , his brain played a scene in his head. Bloody as they come, George with an axe pulled over his head, eyes of steel piercing right through Dream. 

He blinked it away like it was a tear. 

“Yes. Yeah. If...” he put a gloved index finger beneath the bow string stretched across George’s chest, and pulled it back about an inch, popping it against his chest. 

“If you teach me how to shoot like you.”

It was no secret that George was the best shot around. He was more skilled with a bow than anyone Dream knew, and he was almost jealous. 

George seemed to hold conflict within. The problem was, George didn’t know how he was such a good shot, and he didn’t truly believe he could teach anyone to shoot the way he did it since he didn’t even know himself. 

But he agreed as well. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

They set up camp on the edge of a dark wood forest as the sun began to set. They planned to sleep under a cave-like rock enclosure right into the plains, while going to the woods to hunt for food. 

“Come on.” Dream had called to him, nudging his head in the direction of the forest once he attained the brunette’s attention. George rolled his eyes, ignoring the faceless man in favor of unrolling a blanket under the rock. 

“George.” He called again, taking a step closer to the nearest dark oak tree. 

The other continued to ignore him. He was feeling the regret of placing his hands on Dream’s mask just hours earlier. It wasn’t that he felt bad about it. There was just an odd type of unsettled feeling deep in his stomach that told him Dream was gonna make him regret it later. He wanted to believe that that wasn’t true, as Dream had seemed to take the gesture as light heartedly as possible. He was unpredictable,though. 

And George was terrified of what he could do. 

“ George. ” His voice held warning. 

He stood up, wishing he could simply fight Dream’s commands whenever he wished. But he dropped his things and followed the other into the woods. 

It made George sick to his stomach when he couldn’t tell if the hand that ghosted over his upper back made him feel protected or threatened. 

George was nearly submerged in the pool on his train of thought when Dream halted, a light hand on his shoulder stopping him in his tracks. He looked around, making an attempt to spot the thing in which Dream deemed a threat. 

But nothing came— Only dream spinning around as he ripped his axe from the strap across his back and pointed it at George. 

Their relationship was inexplicably complicated. George was balancing on a very thin line that was Dream’s friendship. There were times when he was fearless around the other, believing that he was his friend and that nothing bad would ever come from his presence. But other times... he wasn’t so sure. 

It wasn’t because Dream had ever done anything to him to bring about this change, but because Dream was such an enigma to him that he wondered if there was anything under that mask he could even be friends with.   
  
But he cared about him so much...

More so recently, George had been falling over to the side in which he wasn’t friends with Dream. Where he was but an acquaintance— if he could even call him that— who helped with war crimes on occasion.But the lighthearted physical interactions he’d held with Dream always encouraged him to keep acting like the other didn’t scare the life out of him. 

But there was no denying the shake in his finger tips as the faceless man in question stood in front of him, his arm outstretched with the tip of his axe to his chest. 

“Take it.”

George hesitantly took the handle, his skin brushing the leather holding Dream’s hand. 

He released the axe and took a step back, George quickly adding his other hand to his grip in hopes to keep from dropping it. 

“Show me what you’ve got.” He pointed to a tree about fifteen feet away. 

George glanced nervously between him and the axe. 

“Dream. I don’t-“

“I know.” He crossed his arms. “I wanna see what you do on instinct before I teach you how to do it right.”

George didn’t really see the method behind his madness, but he figured he shouldn’t question Dream’s strange requests. 

Determination lit George’s face as he adjusted his stance, his left hand going over his right on the handle. He spared a glance to Dream, who seemed to be holding himself back. George didn’t know how he could tell. Dream’s body language was just a given to him. Like it’s own unspoken language that you have to learn without instruction. 

He moved his grip down, and Dream visibly relaxed. 

George’s lips almost pulled into a proud grin. 

Almost. 

He pulled the axe over his head and started a scene in his mind. He thought about Dream’s throw and tried to move the way Dream would. 

He took a step forward, releasing the axe as his foot hit the floor again. The axe hit the wood, and for a second he thought he did it, but the blade fell from the wood as easily as it sliced into it. 

George was too busy dwelling on his defeat to notice Dream’s shrug and his mumble of the words “good effort.” 

He only remembered that he was there when he appeared in front of his face to pick up his netherite weapon. 

He lifted George’s chin with a gloved hand, setting the axe back in his hands. 

“You look so upset. Did you really believe you could do it first try?”

George stared at Dream with malice. 

“What if I did?”

Dream pivoted to standing behind George, placing a hand on his right side and kicking his right foot out. 

“Dream-“

“Shut up.” He stepped aside so that George could pull the axe back without putting another crack in his mask, but his hand lingered on George’s back. 

“You let go too late. That’s the only thing you did wrong.”

George glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Then why did you fix my stance?” He seemed to try and shake Dream’s hand away as he spoke. Like his hand was the most uncomfortable thing that could be touching him. 

“Because you were too focused on messing up to get it right a second time. Now do everything the same way,” his voice took on a more reassuring tone towards the end. “Just let go a millisecond sooner.”

Like the flip of a switch, George began taking a reassuring comfort from the hand on his lower back. 

It was almost like he was some sort of good luck charm. The hand touching him was capable of throwing an axe with ease. 

The hand that was touching him was capable of lots of things...

George released the axe and in the blink of an eye it was sticking nicely from scratched, dark wood. 

A dumb smile grew across George’s face. 

“A lot easier than you thought it would be, huh?” He didn’t expect George to answer him. “All you’ll need is some...” George’s act of relaxing back into Dream’s hand had him at a loss of words— tongue tied. “Practice...”

George looked at Dream over his shoulder, a stupidly proud grin still adorning his face. Dream’s hand suddenly felt like it was burning up. He never, ever wanted to let go. 

His heart burned with the longing to just snake his arms around the other. All he wanted was to hold him— to touch him. 

To break him. 

To make him cry. 

_ Why am I like this..? _

He’s so close, but he’s so, so far away. 

It was times like these when Dream was grateful that George couldn’t see his face. Or any part of him for the matter. He couldn’t see the warm yet ravenous look in his eyes, or when he licked his lips. 

He leaned closer to George by accident, as if he was being pulled in by his gravity. As if he was magnetic. 

He didn’t want to take his mask off and prove to George that he had lips, no. But he wanted to lean his head against George’s, to create an unspoken knowing— exactly what he’d do if he could let George know he was human. 

When George stepped away, Dream’s grip on his shirt tightened, but only for a second. 

He let him go, but almost as quickly as he disappeared, a sound scared him right back into Dream’s hold. 

The taller ripped his axe from George’s hand as the other drew his bow. When the two turned, their stomachs dropped upon the sight of an impossibly large bull hybrid.It had black horns and jade caps over its shoulders, with steel chains pulling from the caps to its horns. 

They instantly began scanning their surroundings for cannibals— pillagers— but nothing else came. 

“Dream...”

His jaw set like he wanted to fight, but his feet prepared themselves for a fast exit. 

“Run.”

They both took off in the opposite direction of the beast. Unfortunately, the monster had come from the direction of their camp, so they were getting nowhere, fast. 

The sun was at its final set, and the stars weren’t bright enough to illuminate the trees crumbling behind them as they ran for their lives. Dream could barely see George, bit his sanity was held by the sounds of George tripping over his feet. 

The faint moonlight illuminated a crack in rocks with a gargantuan tree growing up from it, it’s roots encasing the rock enclosure. 

He shoved George in its direction. George fought him, afraid that there would be nothing behind the rocks, or another monster for that matter. 

Dream paid for his hesitation. 

Large claws raked cross his back as he shoved himself and George into the rocks. 

George stumbled into the darkness at the other side. The room appeared to be too small for any mobs to inhabit it, and as the beast rammed the rocks, George realized that it wasn’t getting through. 

He wanted to turn and give Dream a hug for saving his life. Hell, maybe even a kiss on his mask no matter what the other would do to him for such a thing. Though, as he turned turned to face him, Dream fell to his knees, his axe hitting the floor as he held onto the front of his jacket with shaking fingers. 

“Dream?”

No response. 

As the boy’s adrenaline dissipated, a soft cry left his mouth. He tried to hold it in. He tried to fight every voice in himself that was urging him to pull the clothes off of his back. Let his wound breathe.

His entire upper body was on fire, but he didn’t let himself say George’s name.He couldn’t let George think he could be damaged despite his eyes pulling shut in pain. 

“Dream..?” He repeated, getting down to where Dream was kneeling on the ground. He grabbed the from of his shirt. “You’re scaring me.” He whispered as another boom signified the monster ramming itself into the enclosure once more. 

Dream tilted his head up to George, catching a glimpse of his shadowed figure before nearly collapsing forward.

He knew he was safe with the George.

George’s hands caught him around his middle, but he sat in shock as his hands met something warm seeping through the cloth over Dream’s shoulder blades.  


“Dream...”

And a whisper left his lips. 

“ _No_...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it. I’ll be posting chapter three soon so feel free to subscribe for update notifications. Also feel free to tell me what you think and if you like it :D


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything stays the same. But things change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha heeeyyyyy so turns out I AM finishing this. 
> 
> Uhhh sorry this chapter is so short T^T
> 
> But I hope you guys like it!

Sensory overload is a sort of phenomenon that takes over a persons cognitive function once one or more of their grounding connections to the world around them begins to fall through their fingers as easily as sand.

Or in this case, a certain red substance.

George couldn’t see the dark smudge of blood into Dream’s clothes, but as he held the other against him for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the feeling of blood on his hands became too much to bear. 

He removed Dream from his chest space, allowing the other to lay on his stomach with his hands gently digging into the small black stones of the ground. 

Dream wanted to lay on his back with the hope of restricting any more blood from leaving his body, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t move his upper body if he wanted to.

He figured that maybe it was for the best. If he was dying, at least he was numb to the pain as he lost feeling in his back. Though it was a relief to him as he knew he could still move his feet.

Dream was anything but afraid, though. He knew he’d be okay.

One way... or another.

“Sorry,” he heard a soft accent breath to him as the freezing air of the cave hit his back suddenly. He arched up in discomfort, finger tips rooting themselves in tumbled pebbles.

“George-“ his eyelashes fluttered shut, and he licked his lips in panic. No one would’ve been able to tell behind the cover, but they were parted and shaking.

Forever George had believed, and wasn’t afraid to admit, that he was a protector of self. George knew he’d confirm the safety of himself before that of others.

_ He knew that. _

He also knew that for as long as he could remember Dream had given him no reason to fear, but that didn’t stop the terror in the pit of his stomach when Dream would tilt his head at him in a certain way. A way that would almost bring him to his knees. 

Looking at him though, George’s emotions psyched him out long enough for him to believe quite the opposite. The mercenary in front of him had given him more than plenty a reason to be afraid, but right now, he wasn’t.

He ghosted his finger tips up Dream’s back before pulling his blue jacket from over his head. He pressed it down into the boys skin and the sound that left his mouth almost made his heart crack the same way Dream’s mask had. 

But a piece of him couldn’t care less. Dream deserved this. So George pushed down harder, and he felt the air leave Dream’s lungs before he heard it.

With each ragged breath pulled into Dream’s body, his back rose and fell. It was surreal. 

George thought it was very ironic that the first part of Dream he’d seen was his back. This being because he knew the other was a leo, the back being the ruler of those.

Never could he deny, that Dream really lived up to that. He was probably susceptible to injuries of his spinal cord, but he was relieved to notice Dream’s feet fidgeting ever slightly.

George surprised himself at how easily he took the sight of three large gashes down human skin. He thought he would have become nauseated at the sight, but he wasn’t like that. Silently, he thanked the astrals for his resolve.

George couldn’t deny that fear still lingered in the back of his mind. Seeing Dream’s skin felt surreal, but touching it felt wrong. Even so, he never wanted to stop.

He wanted to remember the way it felt when he came to terms with the fact that he’d have to recognize Dream’s status as a living, breathing human. One with soft, warm skin that broke so easily.

His skin was so _warm_.

He wanted to drag his lips across the outline of his spine, but George wasn’t one for the taste of blood.

His newfound obsession came, and it went almost as quickly. He wanted to forget about him just more than he wanted to hold it in his grasp. But that didn’t stop him from savoring it while it was his.

Dream fell asleep after an hour, George almost froze to death after two, and he felt the tight clutch of insanity after three.

George felt hopeless. He wanted nothing more than to stitch Dream up. To clean his wound and make him an untouched pillar of stability again.

Their things sat, waiting for them patiently, but the occasional huffs of a large beast reminded George that they couldn’t go anywhere just yet. They were caged like birds. 

_ Oh birds... _

_ What he’d give to see the sun rise.  _

Every hour he checked. He’d lay his head on Dream’s back and listen for his heart. It persisted, the steady beat holding him together. 

Dream eventually stopped bleeding, but George couldn’t bring himself to take his jacket back. 

He was freezing, but he found himself adjusting his jacket to cover more of Dream. The Dream that would have done more than the same thing for him. 

Dream’s warmth beckoned him in, and the hand that reached under his jacket to begin tracing lines across his destroyed skin couldn’t be helped. His blood had dried, leaving a thin sheet of silk that George felt as he touched him.

Laying next to him, George couldn’t help but let his resentment pour from him. But strangely enough, his resentment came out in the feather light touches he left onto the other.

“I hate you,” He whispered as his soft fingers smeared blood down Dream’s sides.

“I understand.” Dream turned his head to face his direction, mask staring menacingly into his words.

The cracked grin was ever so taunting. Like it wanted him to say more. He wondered if there was any terrible words he could speak that would turn the smile into a sad frown.

Dream wanted to hurt George, but George wanted to make Dream cry.

Despite this, they wanted nothing more than to be close. It was sickening, really. Like eating so much sugar you lose your ability to be sweet.

George couldn’t help but wonder what was behind Dream’s mask and hood. What color was his hair, his eyes? We’re his features dark like the night sky, or was Dream the sun?

What he’d give to see the sun. Maybe in another life, he could watch the sunrise by simply staring into his eyes.

At the knowledge of Dream’s awakening, he pulled his hands away, tucking them in to his chest to fight the cold. Dream never opened his eyes though, so George couldn’t have found the sun if he tried.

George felt sorry, but not because he got Dream injured. He felt sorry that Dream had the audacity to deserve it.

He sat up, and Dream’s body went cold at the loss of proximity. A shudder wracked his body.

“I’m still here,” he whispered as he pulled Dream’s head into his lap. Every bone in the hunter’s body tensed, but eventually let go. George could feel one of Dream’s large hands brush the side of his leg ever so lightly.

Leaning against the cave wall, George began to wonder how bad it would be if he snaked his hands into Dream’s hood and into his hair.

He’d never do it.

Content filled him as he fell asleep running his finger tips down Dream’s upper back beneath the blue. It was the least he could do.

Content filled him as a psychopathic grown man, who’s destroyed countless things, laid injured and peaceful in his lap, with a violent hand gently encasing his knee.

Nothing changed, but Dream felt his twisted desire to see George bleed beginning to dissipate with the stars as the sun rose.

_ And the birds came back.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter :,)


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLA AMIGOS 
> 
> Just a reminder that this takes place in a universe in which all of the conflict has passed, and L’manburg is still destroyed, but the people of that faction still call themselves L’manburgians and “from L’manburg” as a kind of memorial to where they started. 
> 
> Just to clear it up :)) 
> 
> But anyway yes It’s me. Ya boy. Back with more emotional turmoil. I really hope you guys like it, and again, comments mean the world to me T^T

When the song of the wind whistled through cracks in the stone, George’s eyes blinked open, and the sun caught his brown irises. The light pooled into them, turning them into a beautiful shade and casting the light up to his lashes. The streak of light across his face forced his hand in front of it in an attempt to steal his sight back from sleep.

His gaze fell softly as his head tilted down, and he stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. When his eyes opened, he saw blood on his hands.

He saw blood everywhere.

The sick sight hadn’t nauseated him before, but it sure started to right then. He pulled gentle fingers across the front of Dream’s mask, and the action shook him to his wake.

When he moved, a hiss left his teeth. George stared expressionless, but he pulled the other’s head back down.

Dream’s lack of resistance urged George on to remove the cloth from his back. It was almost difficult given that it had been blood melded to his skin, but soon the jacket was discarded.

George’s hands found their way to Dream’s back once more, and for a moment he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

Watching it rise and fall with his breaths was too much, and he wanted to forget that he’d ever seen it.

In a way, the sight of Dream in this way had led George to view him as a totally different person. It didn’t feel like Dream was there with him.

It felt like a stranger.

George moved away from him. Immediately beginning to ponder on how close the nearest village could be. He knew that someone there could lend them the assistance they needed so desperately before they returned to their journey.

“Can you stand?” George’s feet pulled him in the opposite direction of Dream. He didn’t want to help him. 

“Of course I can.” His words were heaved, and though his movements were slow, he was to a standing eventually. 

George didn’t tear his eyes from the pained way that the other seemed to move. It appeared excruciating. George would have said that he wanted to take that pain away— that he wanted to rest a gentle set of hands on the problem and make it all better.

But George didn’t know the man in front of him.

Dream seemed to lean in on himself as he walked, and gravity pulled his jacket back to where it belonged. George could see it, though. He could see the marks through his cloths.

The wind caught his hair as George leaned his head from between the rocks. Within a few moments, he was free, finding and reclaiming the bow he’d lost upon entry to the cave while in a dash for his life.

As if his recollection left with the moon, George’s memories seemed to all disappear within half a second from leaving his cage.

He forgot the way it felt. That person’s skin under his fingers and the second-hand pain that he’d gone through for what felt like millennia. The pressure of his head on his body and the way his gloved hand felt on his kneecap.

He went numb to what he knew he would have had to forget in order to keep his sanity, and he buried it.

I hate you, he remembered saying.

George didn’t turn to check on the person behind him as they walked into the sun.

Whoever he was.

——   
  


There was an expression that George knew all too well. That you can never truly hate something until you’ve loved it, because love was the only emotion strong enough to cause such a heart-wrenching sensation. 

But he often found that tearing things apart piece by piece— getting to know every little detail— was just a way to find more lovely features that his eyes had glossed over. 

But there was no beauty to find in a puzzle with mismatched pieces. A work of art that he thought he could predict the product of, only to discover that half of the pieces had been mixed in from a different work entirely. 

Discarding of every piece, even the ones he’d managed to actually fit together, was much simpler than sorting out the mistakes. 

Dream found his axe, and the tree line greeted them as they returned for their things. George watched as he pulled his bag onto his back with a hiss. But he turned and ignored it, opting to reclaim his things as well.

Dream felt as hollow as his mask made him look. He felt like his insides had long since been carved out like the mural on his back.

There was an empty kind of sense that came from vulnerability. He would have rather it been George than anyone else, but it still felt disgusting.

He’d lived with being encased in an unwanted feeling his entire life. His heart broke more with every twist of his upper body. His eyes almost hurt as much as his neck. It was as if the cut into his body had made a direct opening to his weakest feelings.

And it hurt so badly.

He felt his desire for destruction return. The way he wanted to show George how much he adored him with a knife pressing into his cheek.

When they left the cave, so much had changed,but everything was exactly the same if not more foreign.

If he wasn’t unbreakable to George... then he guessed he was nothing.

_He knew he was nothing._

It was almost enough to bring him to tears. Almost enough for his pretty green eyes to drip water over his soft freckles. He wanted to hold onto George for dear life, but he knew that if he did, George would easily be scared away— especially now.

Within a few miles, they came across a village. The first thing Dream did was find a cleric. The man was baffled by Dream’s injuries, but traded him a potion to cure his unbearable pain in exchange for ten small green pearls.

He downed it like it was the last thing he’d ever drink, before pulling his face back where it belonged, over his heart.

He didn’t know when he’d begun thinking of his mask as his essence, but it was everything to him. An arrowhead remained sticking from the front, and that small detail may have been the intimidation factor that allowed them to get a room so easily.

It wasn’t until Dream bought a new jacket from a woolworker that people stopped sending dirty looks his way.

_I’m sorry_ , he wanted to tell them, but a small part of him couldn’t really find himself caring. He knew he could kill any of them if he wanted to— as easily as if they were flies.

Dream’s new jacket was white as snow, and it felt wrong on his body. He missed his green—the forest colored protection it offered him. He began to feel as if he’d do anything in the world to get it back.

But he couldn’t help but wonder, if it was better on George’s eyes— a little less harsh. Maybe...

Maybe now George could look at him without turning away so fast. He could hold George’s eyes on him the way he’d wanted to for so long.

They returned to a shared room at an inn in the village. The second their faces passed the doorframe, the two were forced to confront the same tired feeling that held on to them both.They turned and collapsed side by side on the closest bed. 

Dream remained on his side, terrified of reopening his newly healed wound. The potion had been enough, but not as much as he wished.

George turned to face him, pulling his glasses down over his eyes. He reached up to trace his ring finger over the mask. The broken back of the arrow head threatened to leave a gash in his finger tip as he touched it. 

The new color made Dream seem like that much more of a different person. He was the color of innocence and purity. To everyone who saw him in white, he was a symbol of truth and care. 

But George knew that there was dried blood on the other side. Which reminded him. 

“Come with me.”

“Why?”

But he followed him as he stood, as if he were a puppy. George pulled his first aid bag from his backpack and gripped the other’s wrist, pulling him into the bathroom. 

“Turn around.”

“Why?” He said again, holding his broad stance. His eyes glared down to George’s, though he knew he couldn’t see it. 

“Because I need to put medicine on your back.”

“My back is fine now.”

“Seriously,” the look he gave him was almost disgusted. “Instant healing is literally shit. I know you’re still hurting.”

“Oh come on,” a scoff passed his lips as he leaned against the wood of the bathroom counter. “It _does not_ hurt anymore.”

“We still need to make sure that it doesn’t get infected. That’s a really bad wound, Dream.” Calling him that didn’t feel right anymore.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” Gloved hands reached to snatch the medicine from George, who pulled it away.

“It’s in the dead center of your back. You can’t reach all of it.”

“I don’t know, you’d be surprised how much I-“

“Just shut up.” His voice snapped, cutting the other off. His words were like a blade. “Why are you being such a child about this. It will slow us down exponentially if you don’t just let me help you!”

They entered a short-lived game of fight tag that held an obvious victor from the start. George made an attempt to turn Dream by his shoulder— the same way he had the day they fought in the community house— except this time it was away from him. The hand was caught before it could reach him, but it was different that time.

George tried to kick Dream’s feet from beneath him, which he side stepped simply, catching George by his right side and slamming him back into the wall.

A hiss of pain left soft, pink lips as George’s head hit the wall behind him. Though, he didn’t dare move away from it. A forearm had slammed to the wall along with his back, and a dull smile was closer to his eyes than he ever wanted it to be.

“You’re gonna listen to _me_ ,” if searing rage could be wrapped in decorative paper and placed in a vase of flowers, that was the voice which spoke to him. “If you _ever_ -“

“I’ll close my eyes.”

George’s words were blurted out in the blink of an eye, like it was a race.But they stopped the other, who’s voice truly held none other than meaningless threats anyway.

“They’ll stay closed. It’s already not that bright and it’ll be just like the cave.” He could see the other take a deep breath at the recollection. As if he was surprised that George remembered despite his reactions. “I didn’t see you in the cave. I was blind and I didn’t see a thing.”

But it still ruined so much.

His wilted-flower voice never returned. Maybe George had broken the vase.

Instead, he let out a breath he seemed to hold for centuries, turning around and placing his hands on the wood he’d previously used as an armrest. 

“Promise.” His voice held a hesitant edge. George wanted to dull it.

He could merely stare in shock as he watched Dream lean over the counter with his hands planted firmly onto the wall.

“I promise.”

Dream’s entire upper body relaxed, and it reminded him of a river flowing into the ocean. George opened the translucent substance.

This would make him feel better. This would take his pain away.

He took some of it onto his hands, and he let his eyes fall shut. Before his finger tips met the other’s clothes he paused a couple times, hesitation at its finest.

Before too long, his fingers found the bottom of Dream’s clothes, and he slid them up at a tauntingly slow pace until the material was far from in his way.

He felt muscles tense, and he felt pain. He could see his skin, but mapping it out was almost better.

As he found each scratch, his fingers would gently drag the substance down them. George’s fingers were like ice, and every touch made his skin rise. He came so close to making him stop. Begging him, even.

It didn’t take long for George to become lost. Lost as he grabbed a damp cloth and erased the blood from him. He was blindfolded and following the lines of an imperfection to get himself out of the maze that was the skin of a killer. But he veered off track, and he found himself wandering in every direction but the way to safety.

He could almost see the other perfectly,but he began to wonder if his ideations were correct. If this person in front of him looked anything like how he’d always pictured.

“Open your eyes.”

He stopped.

His fingers ceased their dance as the words were shaken from the other’s lips. He sounded so far away. George was too, so he could find himself casting blame. He couldn’t do it.

It felt so wrong.

His eyes fluttered open against his will, and his brown irises set their gaze upon a sight that caused his heart to nearly stop.

He pulled his hands away, unable to keep them on such a strange thing— something so familiar, yet so foreign.

His gaze fastened to skin littered with freckles and a red blush towards the top. At least, he though. His mind had not a clue of what this land held as a normality.

He could see the tension in the other’s shoulders, and he could see the softness of his sides above his rib cage.

Gods, it was so much.

His hands gently replanted themselves over the lines marred into the map he studied, but they didn’t make it any less intricate. If anything, they made it more so.

“Dream.”

He remembered. That was who this man was— who he had in the palms of his hands.

His lips quivered as the puzzle changed. The new pieces weren’t a mismatched mistake. They were just another part of the full picture that he hadn’t quite gotten to yet.

It was a beautiful piece of the picture, and he wanted to hold onto it forever. To keep building onto it. But he couldn’t at the moment, because he was preoccupied with the new feeling of a heartbeat beneath his fingers.

He forced himself to assume it was his, as he didn’t know if he was ready to accept that Dream had a heart just yet.

“You’re so...”

“What..? What am I?” His voice held some semblance of genuine question, but any answer he could have had left with his coherent thought. 

He leaned into Dream, his fingers quickly crossing over his ribs until they laid flat in his bare stomach. The force of it rocked them forward enough to be noticeable.

A gasp escaped the other’s lips, and he reached for George’s hands in an instant, but he couldn’t go through with hisending. 

As George buried his cheek into the other, his only thought was that he wished so badly that he could take in the smell of his skin instead of medicine. 

But then he felt his _heart_. 

It was so undeniably _his_ that it nearly scared George away. He chased it, moving one hand closer and holding onto him for dear life. 

Dream didn’t fight him. He didn’t move a muscle. He was scared that at any second, George could reach into his chest and remove his absolutely pounding heart. 

Their beats were almost in unison, both racing while the butterflies in their stomached fought desperately for escape, making them sick.

A leather glove was removed from is left hand, and before long his bare fingers were entwined with the ones over his heart for the first time in his life.

“What am I?” He asked again, glancing up for a first since he let his head fall. He was reminded of how grateful he was for the lack of a mirror before his eyes.

The warmth encasing his body grew impossibly hotter, enough to make his breath heavy.

“You’re real.” His lips brushed skin as the words fell, and all of the air dissipated from Dream’s lungs.

“You’re alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter,  
> Feel free to tell me what you thought :))


	5. Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings run loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really excited for the next chapter which this one leads up to. I’m very glad so many of you enjoy this write and I hope more people continue to in the future :)

That night, sleep took George faster than it had in a while. He would have liked to say it was from the fact that he felt safe in a room far away from all of the problems in his life. Would have _loved_ to, actually.

_But Dream was there._

For the rest of the night, George almost pulled his hair out at the thought of how badly he wanted to rest the side of is face against Dream again. He’d felt his structure and he knew that laying against him would provide an otherworldly comfort.

The thought had him biting his nails raw until they bled.

They did sleep beside one another, but in the worst possible way. Dream with a hand under his head while he stared at the door until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. And George facing opposite of him, his glasses catching the reflection of the moon as it shone through the window he looked out until, he too, fell asleep. 

Dream had long since returned his glove to where it rightfully belonged, but as George slept, he removed it once more. He lifted the other’s glasses from his face and set them to his side. 

His fingers lingered on George’s face. It was his turn that time, to get lost. 

He could feel every nerve in his hand fight him as he tried to pull away, but he did, and he turned over to fall asleep once more.

Throughout the night, they’d backed into each other. They always seemed to find one another like that. It wasn’t that they began to see colors in their sleep until their backs were pressed together through their clothes.

Their heart beats found one another.

—

Sleep released Dream far sooner than it did the other. It gave Dream enough time to eat an apple without needing to protect his face, and it gave him enough time to write a new page in his book.

He began implementing his defense against George from the second he started the poems.

He pulled a wide brush and yellow paintfrom his book. He didn’t know what kind it was, but he was glad that it dried so fast.

The man smeared yellow paint across the entire page, front and back, not caring if it got on any of the others. He knew he’d end up painting them as well. He wiped the brush off before stuffing it back into his bag. Then he retrieved a pen with green ink, and began to write within the yellow page.

Was it overboard? Maybe, but he was going to make damn sure George was never capable of reading a single thing about him that was written into that book.

He’d never read what Dream spoken about his eyes, lips, or his hair. Now, his hands. His soft touch and the way it almost set him aflame.

When he couldn’t keep his hand moving, Dream closed the book. He stared at it with a hurt in his eyes that was hidden easily by his disguise.

He brought the book up to his forehead through the mask, cradling it with his palms. He let out a shaky breath and tightened his grip on it.

There were torture methods in that book. He had practices that could bring an adult to their knees with sickness, all in the same book where he kept the things that he loved so much about George.

He felt disgusting. He dropped the book on the floor, moving back but an inch. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want it anymore. He wanted to burn it, but he’d never be able to let go of his memories of the blue boy. Which just so happened to be stored in a paperback of war crimes.

“What even _is_ that?” Speak of the devil, himself 

It would be a lie to say Dream didn’t jump at the sudden voice behind him. He grabbed the book in an instant and shoved it into his bag with the pen.

“It’s nothing important.” Once said, he stood up and began gathering one or two of his belongings that he’d left scattered through the room.

“Well obviously it’s something Dream.” He followed him around the enclosure that was most certainly not built for two people. “You’ve acted weird about that book twice now. Just tell me what’s in it.”

_George wasn’t one for secrets._

He began to get agitated with each shot Dream blew him down for about the notebook.

“Please.” He’d tried, long after they’d left the village and made off on their way. 

“No.” Came the only word George had heard in the past hour.

“Dream.” He stopped walking, crossing his arms until the other took notice of his strike. He turned around to see George planted to his place, arms crossed. “Show me.”

Though it wasn’t visible, Dream was almost certain that his eye had begun twitching beneath his mask.

“George.” His voice held a dangerous warning. “Stop it with the book, and come on.”

“No.” He leaned towards him as he said it, drawing out the first letter of the word like he was a disobedient toddler. It was enough to piss Dream off to his core. He started to wonder why he ever brought George him.

_But he knew why he did it._

Part of him didn’t seem to care about what had happened the previous night, he was overwhelmed with stress almost to his boiling point. So his mouth took over.

“Y’know what, George?” He took a step to him. “You’re right. If we’re gonna be a _team_ ,” he said the word like it felt disgusting to speak. “Then we should just put everything out on the table, yeah?”

It was clear on George’s face, he hadn’t thought he would snap this hard from such lighthearted begging. He knew then, whatever was in that book... it was too important to Dream.

“You wanna know that that book holds some of the worst things you’ll ever see?”

_It holds poems about your eyes._

“You want me to tell you that every terrible, psychotic scheme that I’ve ever fulfilled or planned to, is written in there?”

_With my memory of the first time we spoke._

“You _hate_ me.” He recalled for him, and it hurt to say. “Well I hate you, too.” It was a miracle that his voice didn’t crack when he said it, because his chest sure had.

The illogical part of his brain took complete control of him— the part that urged him to do those bad things. He figured, he was alone with George. And if he wanted him dead at any moment he could simply kill him and put him six under.

_He couldn’t._

_I hate you for the things you make me think. For how human you make me feel._

“I hate you.” He got his fingers on the book, practically throwing it at the other with lazy hands. “So read it.”

He crossed his arms as he waited patiently for the front to open. It never did. Now that George was given the option, he felt as if it were too wrong for him to do so. Dream tapped his fingers on his arm impatiently as he waited.

“That’s what I thought.” He reached forward, taking the book from the nervous boy, as he’d caught it upon a rather hard impact with his chest. He stashed it away, looking back to stare the other down once again. “Now just come on.”

Boots turned and began walking away, but they halted in their paces as George spoke, a shake in his voice that was hard to hear, but still there.

“You hate me?”

Dream thought hard on his answer, but it wasn’t him that was thinking. It was someone else. It was his killer— his dark part of the moon.

“Yes.” He settled on. He shouldn’t have a problem with telling him that. After all, George had said it to him first. “Why else would I want to hurt you so badly.”

_Because I love you so much. I love you to the moon and back. I want to put my bare hands in your hair and never let you go._

But Dream couldn’t process such a strong, loving emotion, so it dispelled itself in the desire to hurt him. Maybe with the hopes of getting to put him back together till death do them part.

George stood more still than a deer in torchlight. 

“H- hurt me..?” His voice wavered with the mild fear that creeped up his throat. His heart began racing in his chest so hard he could hear it. He felt like he was standing two feet from a panther— or the beast that had torn Dream’s back open. 

Right, he had to remind himself what Dream really was. He was human— he knew that now, didn’t he?

Then why did he feel so _scared_? Why did he take a step back and completely forget who he was in the blink of an eye.

Dream wouldn’t hurt him, surely. Or would he?

The way George backed from him made his smile light up behind the mask, as he got to take a step closer. The fear in George was radiating like it was heat, and Dream loved it. He loved it because he was _sick_.

“ _Dream_ ,” he wanted to tell him to knock it off. He wanted to beg him to say he was messing with him.

“ _Ten_.”

George’s stomach fell through the floor. Dream couldn’t be, seriously...

“Nine.”

He was. George began to panic like he had seconds to live. Like he didn’t trust the person in front of him with his life. He didn’t. 

“Eight.” He took a step towards him, putting his hands out and nearly touching him, but he couldn’t. He wanted more than anything to just hold on to him, to beg him to stop and hold on until Dream woke up.

“Dream. Please just-“

“Seven.”

“ _Dream_.”

“ _Six_.“

George turned with shoes of lead, and he disappeared into the trees while he knew he could.

“Five...” Dream counted down, each number getting softer than the last. What was he even planning on doing once his timer ran down?

“Four.” His voice was nothing but a whisper now, barely audible beneath his mask.

“Three,” he scanned the woods around him, finding his gaze staring straight into the direction George had disappeared in.

“Two.” He couldn’t really kill him, couldn’t he— bring all of his intrusive and psychotic visions to life?

“One.”

_It was time to find out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you liked the chapter! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. 
> 
> Till next time, adios


	6. Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence.

He ran with the fear of three hunters at the face of a dragon. He sat quieter than two mice in the walls. And he came close to passing out like one man overlooking a canyon deeper than the pits of hell.

He held his bow string to his chest as he sat, and waited. He waited for Dream to snap out of it. Thoughts of how his person had suddenly advanced to such a reckless state were a mystery to him.

George wondered what he’d done so terribly wrong to sway Dream into killing him. Deep down, George still believed Dream couldn’t do it— prayed even.

The sun was at its peak in the sky, but George looked up like there were stars past the trees. Under that same sky, Dream was after him and angry.

He remembered the game they used to play when they were teenagers— the ones where Dream would tag him, and then he and Sapnap would chase him through the woods for days on end trying to tag him back.

They never got him, but George couldn’t help but wonder if how he felt now was what Dream had felt all those times. He was already feeling scared and alone...

Was that how Dream had felt? Were those simple games what made him too void of emotional awareness to cope.

_Surely not._

Dream was like a machine.

_He isn’t._

He tracked George so easily, it was almost disappointing.

Hearing the ground snap behind the rock he used as a cover, adrenaline pulled him from his seat. He immediately nocked an arrow and turned to the sound.

In a moment of fear, he released the arrow, and he took a step back as he saw what he’d hit after the fact.

He stared at Dream’s cracked mask, the arrowhead a reminder of his last incident. He hadn’t been as lucky this time. There Dream stood, axe to the floor in his other hand’s favor of taking ahold of the arrow in his shoulder.

“Oh George...” he cooed as if he was seconds from cutting him open. He released the arrow without removing it and picked his axe up once again, continuing his slow pace towards the other.

The arrow hurt— it hurt so badly, but compared to his back, the burning ache was just a dull wound. Just another place on his body where he could feel his heartbeat. It almost snapped him back to life.

_Almost_.

Nothing in the universe could take a guess as to what had thrown Dream into such a violent attack, not even himself.

He knew that he felt pain as he watched George aim another arrow to his leg. George didn’t want to kill him— just wanted to keep him away.

He _knew_ that that hurt him worse than any arrow ever could, so _why_ , he wondered, _why am I doing this?_

“Dream,” George took a step back once the two were about a meter apart. George felt like he was staring at a tiger. Patient, and so ready to jump. The feeling that Dream would move at any second was so frightening to him.

He reached out to him, George changed his aim to his chest.

“Dont,” he pulled the bowstring tighter. “Don’t touch me.”

Dream ran his fingers down the side of the bow, resting it in his grip just below the arrow. He pulled George’s aim up and leaned in until the tip touched where his forehead would be on his mask.

Right between his eyes.

“It’ll break the ceramic from this distance, yeah?” He pulled him closer by the bow.

“So come on. I’m gonna kill you.” He lied, putting his axe into his bag over his shoulder. He didn’t know what he was doing. “So save yourself. Shoot me. Kill me.”

George’s hands began to shake to the point where he became worried that he’d let the arrow go involuntarily.

“Please,” he nearly begged. “Just _move_. Just stop and- and we can,” he remembered the map that he’d shoved into his bag. “We can leave, and we can pretend this never happened.”

_They couldn’t._

Dream reached to his side, pulling a knife from his belt. George didn’t notice. He pulled the bow to the side and cut the string.

In the blink of an eye, the string snapped, the arrow fell and the snap shook the bow from George’s hands. It caused him to back into a large apple tree.

Dream pulled the arrow from his shoulder to give him more flexibility as he reached for his axe.

If he killed George, then all of his feelings would cease. If he killed George, no one would ever be able to hold him over his head again.

If Dream took George, then no one else ever could.

He swung.

George dropped to the floor as he dodged the blow. While Dream ripped his axe from the tree, George ran. Water began to fall from the sky as he did. His brain hadn’t even processed the change in lighting— that the sun was far, far away from where they were. He hadn’t seen the storm clouds roll.

The sky remained a mystery to him until he stumbled into a clearing, but at the end of that clearing, was nothing. It dropped into a ravine so deep that the light wouldn’t have reached it if it wasn’t being suffocated by the clouds.

A beast appeared in front of him as he turned around, breathing so hard he was heaving with each step. Like he was a machine running out of fuel.

But that wasn’t a good way to describe him. He was more like a hungry lion.

Prideful, dominant... petrifying to the core.

_How fitting._

George let his backpack fall off of his shoulders, knowing he’d need to run. It fell into the ravine, but neither of them seemed to care at that moment.

Dream took a step to him, George nearly fell backwards over the edge. Feeling as though he was out of options, he began to wonder if falling to his death would be so bad. At least he’d die quickly.

A bad feeling ate at him. It said that if Dream killed him, he’d do it nice and slow. The second Dream had swung his axe, George lost all hope of talking him out of it— trying to manipulate him back into his own head.

When Dream took another step towards him, he let himself fall. He stepped over into nothingness and prepared for the worst pain he’d ever felt, but it never came.

Dream caught him by the front of his jacket and threw him to the floor. In an instant, he was on him, axe to his eyes.

George caught his hands, arms shaking as he held the blade from his face. He couldn’t force his head any further back into rock away from him.

“If you want me dead just let me go!” He shouted, desperate to get the blade from his face.  
  


He knew this wasn’t his Dream

“I can’t,” he pushed the blade down until it sat a centimeter from George’s cheek, dangerously close to his eye line. “If I don’t kill you, someone else will, and I’ll never be able to live knowing that someone else took your life.” His words were mechanic behind his mask, George almost faltered.

“You’re fucking insane...” he gasped, tilting his head back.

Dream shook his head, pressing his knee into George’s pelvis hard enough to make him bite his lip in pain.

“If I was insane... then why would I feel the things I do? Why was I given so much that I can’t handle?”

George thought he understood now.Dream had so many emotions, he just didn’t know how to execute them in a healthy manor because, well... nobody had ever taught him how.

Dream’s blade pressed into George’s cheek bone, he let out a sound of pain, his adrenaline just not enough to mask the pain. Water filled his eyes like they were the ocean on a rainy day. It was pouring, but George had a feeling he’d never see the waves again.

Wishing he was with Dream and Sapnap on the coast was all he could think of. Dream was so nice back then, when he wasn’t drowning in troubles. He’d promised him something.

“You... You promised...” George’s voice was labored, and his eyes filled with more tears despite the water already rolling down his face. “You said you’d never hurt me!” The sadness and fear fell down his face, mixing with the water from the sky.

He did... didn’t he?

The rest of George’s strength went into shoving Dream’s axe to the side as his strength let go for that one second.

The rest of it.

It was all gone.

Running again wasn’t an option, and he couldn’t bear to sit there and stare at Dream’s mask— so happy, yet so emotionless.

His arms went around Dream’s neck as George threw himself at the other.

“You think you have to hurt me to keep taking care of me?” He held onto him tighter, his hands finding the back of Dream’s head. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Dream offered him the bare minimum of a nod, which was when George realized that his hands weren’t on the back of a white hood. His fingers were knuckle deep in messy locks that he was too busy to bother looking at.

“You don’t have to.” He kept his eyes screwed shut, forgetting to try and hide the desperation in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere and if you don’t want anyone to kill me then just fucking make sure they don’t.”

He relaxed against Dream, consequently taking in the scent that surrounded him for the first time. It was so undeniably _him_.

“You have me.” His voice returned to an unhurried tone. “Do whatever you want, just don’t hurt me. _Please_.”

Dream sat so still he could have been confused with a sad statue. Before too long, his hands hesitantly made their way up to George’s back. He held onto him with a touch so gentle that no one would have ever guessed he was capable of swinging an axe hard enough to shatter it.

Ecstatic that he was still breathing, George also found comfort hoping that this was something Dream needed— that maybe this had gotten it out of his system for good. He ran a hand through Dream’s wet hair.

“This is better, don’t you think?” Better than killing him. Better than solving emotional tension in the worst possible way. Dream nodded again.

George pulled away as Dream’s shoulders began to shake. He couldn’t be...

Before he could speak, George caught a glimpse of the hair falling down onto the white mask. He assumed it had darkened with the rain, but still.

“You’re a blond?” He reached a hand up to push the strands from his mask. Dream offered a barely audible response. 

“Yes,” he looked to George’s eyes, but he noticed the blood running down his face.

He came to his senses.

A shudder wracked his body and he brought a hand up to ghost over the cut across George’s cheek bone. 

“George..” he brushed his gloved thumb over the wound, forcing a wince and small flinch from the brunet. “I’m so sorry...”

He didn’t tell him that it was okay. It wasn’t, and he knew it would take forever for him to trust Dream again. But for now, they were all each other had. Despite the blood, they cared for each other more than words could tell.

“I-“ George ran a hand past Dream’s collar bone over his hoodie to his arm. “I shot you.” He was lucky he’d grabbed a thinner arrow. He knew Dream wouldn’t bleed out, but that didn’t lower the amount of trouble they’d have if it got infected.

“I need to sew it closed.” He separated from Dream, finally feeling the cold around him. He scanned their surroundings for his bag, but then he remembered.

“Dream. We have a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys this was the hardest thing to write holy shit. I really hope you all enjoyed it at least! Sorry for the short chapters. I don’t usually write them this short but I know I’ll be more progressive with the story if I pace myself on the writing time. 
> 
> Again, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated :)


	7. Chapter VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no also ouch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes enjoy 😌

George could almost remember the exact moment when his bag had slipped from his finger tips, and into the abyss. The memory forced itself to replay in George’s head, becoming more and more clear each time it showed.

The man in white stood, stepping rather recklessly to peer over the side of the ravine.

“You dropped... your...”

“Yeah.” He deadpanned, a frustrated inhale gracing his tired lungs. Looking over the abyss made him more angry than it did fearful.

“Okay, let’s go.” The other then began walking to a slanted part of the ravine wall, and beginning the climb down to the first layer of rock. George ran to his side, nearly reaching out to grab him— keep him here.

But he wasn’t ready to lay his hands on Dream yet. He didn’t think he could ever do that again.

“Are you _crazy_?” He gestured to the rain that still rushed to the ground around them heavily. “In case you haven’t noticed,it’s pouring, and my bag fell several hundred feet down.”

The man shrugged.

“Then I guess we’re going several hundred feet down, aren’t we?” George scanned his brain for something, anything he could say to Dream to keep him on steady ground. But he didn’t have to.

The man winced as he put weight on his arms. George remembered.

“I shot you.” He spoke once more since he’d almost died to the hands of the person in front of him.

“You did.” He laughed as his gloved hand came up to cup his arm.

“Let me fix you first.” George knew how to compromise, but he’d never say he wanted to fulfill Dream’s side of the deal. “Then we can go.” It sent chills down his spine.

“Then,” he balled his hands into fists, turning to stare over the edge once more. “Then we can go.”

“Alright, genius.” He stood. “But the bandages and every other medical supply to our names was in your bag which is currently in the pits of hell.”

He cursed himself. Dream was right.

George stared at the hole in Dream’s left sleeve, bringing a hand up to his mouth and pulling at his bottom lip as he thought.

“I have an idea.” His eyes met the mask slowly. “But I reckon you’re not gonna like it one bit.”

—

They sat under an overhang so large that the both of them had already silently wondered how the land above it had yet to cave in. 

They made a fire with the flint and steel that remained in Dream’s bag which they retrieved. Their time together was now the cup for liquid bitterness, and both of them were parched.

They argued. Yelling could have been heard from across the woods if someone had listened hard enough from a nearby village. But when they sat together by the fire they’d made, neither of them moved a muscle— spoke a word.

“I’ll have to tear the sleeve.”

Silence. Dream continued to roll the tip of a stick in the fire. The same one that would soon bring him an almost unbearable pain.

“Did you know, that burning alive is the most painful way to die, George?”

“Answer me.” Dream tilted his head to the other.

“I understand.”

“Good.” George scooted to him, getting as close as he felt safe doing so. He put two fingers into Dream’s sleeve where the arrow had penetrated, and he ripped a larger hole into it.

He held out his hand, a silent request for Dream to hand him the burning stick. He took Dream’s arm in one hand as he let the stick cool a bit. He hated that he was doing this. It was the most painful way he could ensure Dream’s recovery, but it was also the fastest and cleanest method he currently had at hand.

So he thought of it as revenge as he pressed the sweltering stick into Dream’s skin, branding him. He let it be the removal of all the resentment he’d built up since Dream almost took his life— he let it out.

And it almost worked.

Almost, but the sound that left Dream’s lips hurt enough for the both of them. He jerked his arm away, but George pulled him into the burn.

It was excruciating. It was enough to bring water to his eyes, but when George stopped, all Dream felt was anger.It wasn’t directed to George. He didn’t even know what it was directed to, but being in pain had always triggered his nerves— made him violent and mad.

George saw this coming. He knew it would happen the second the wood ignited his skin and singed the surrounding clothes. But he didn’t have time to let Dream deescalate. He didn’t have time to let Dream rip the branch from his hands and begin snapping it silently as an out for his pain.

When they were younger and Dream would get this way, George would always grab something fragile and force it into the angry man’s hands. Wether it be something made of glass, a personal belonging, or even one of their pets, Dream would always stop like his off switch had suddenly been flipped.

Because George knew Dream’s soul was so, so gentle before it had been broken.

He looked around and didn’t have anything of value, so without a moment of hesitation, he grabbed Dream’s hands. He pulled them up before he could rip them away, and he placed his wrist to either side of his head, closing his eyes.

A part of him waited for the worst, but of course, it never came.

They both relaxed. Dream’s breaths were audible behind his mask, and George took pleasure in listening to them slow.

He slid his fingers into brown hair, and moved his wrists forward to take a gentle hold on George’s skull. He slowly rocked George’s head from side to side, feeling as he let himself become frictionless in his hands.

When George opened his eyes, Dream stopped. George took the hand of his injured arm from his face, allowing the other to remain as he took Dream’s arm into his hand once again. He leaned to the wound, and he began to blow on it gently.

Dream whined.

“Feels good?” George leaned closer to his cauterized wound as he nodded.

“Very good.” He now held George’s head to his arm. “Please. Don’t stop.”

George rolled his eyes. Dream was only nice when he wanted things, but even so, George never realized how much he enjoyed making the other feel good. He’d done it time after time since they’d left. His lap had been his pillow, his hands had healed him time and time again.

And now his lips were his ice pack.

As his neck began to hurt, he leaned back into the others hold.

“Dream.” He let up.

“Sorry.” He returned his arm to rest as George’s hold left him entirely, leaving him almost colder than he had been when the other was providing relief to his wound.

But his arm began to hurt again. He’d had plenty of burns before, and he knew how they worked. It would hurt for so long as his body tried to repair itself, but for now, the wound was clean and shut.

George ran a gentle thumb over the wound to get his attention, as he hadn’t seemed to look away from it. Every touch George gave him seemed to release him from something or another.

_I’m so in love with you. I’m in love with you._

He admitted it to himself as he looked up. George couldn’t see his eyes, but Dream could see his— in the fire light.

Never. He gave George a sad smile— another thing which he couldn’t ever see. 

Never will it be.

—

Scaling a cliff wasn’t on the top of the list of things George had planned on doing any time within the near future, but there he was. 

Once they got past the first layer of sediment, they took a ten minute break to let their bodies rest. The cool water that fell from the sky aided in keeping Dream’s arm as far away from pain as it could. At times he would even pull his sleeve back and put his arm out for the sky to have better access. 

When he did, George always tried his best not to stare, but he couldn’t stop thinking. He was close enough to Dream’s arm to kiss his wound when he blew on it. If he had, would it have taken all of the pain away?

George still had a bloodstained cheek from the cut across his cheek made by Dream’s axe. It burned, but the pain had dissipated quickly. The rain washed the blood down his face and onto his neck— into his clothes until the only proof left was the cut.

Lightning began to strike the floor of the ravine once the rain began to pick up even more. Each strike was too close for comfort, and each blast almost broke their ears.

“Copper.”

“What?” George gave him a strange look, flinching as another lightning strike penetrated the floor beneath them.

“The ground,” Dream stared over the side, as they were now close enough to see it. “The ground’s absolutely covered in copper ore. It’s attracting the lightning.”

George would have peered over the side, but he was terribly afraid of lightning. He would have seen the floor turned to glass from the sand being struck. He would have seen the black floor of obsidian and his bag resting in one of the only places untouched by electricity.

“Every minute and twenty seconds.” Dreampulled George under the overhang of an abandoned mineshaft. “That’s the lightning interval.”

George had almost forgotten Dream’s intelligence.

“Ok, how long do I have?”

“Fifteen seconds.”

George ran out, Dream tried to stop him. He grabbed the bag, and made a dash back to the overhang, but the sky caught him.

He was well out of the Lightning’s grasp when it struck, but he still felt a shock run up his legs from the ground. It dropped him and put him into shock as he caught himself.

Dream dashed to his side, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him into the cliff side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He yelled as he took his face into his hands. “George.” He tapped the side of his face.

The boy was lost in shock.

“Hey,” Dream spoke, worry edging his voice. “George, hey.” He continued to tap the side of the other’s face until he blinked.

“George.” He turned his face to look his way. “Hey it was just ground current. You’re okay.” George tried to move, but he couldn’t, he continued to give Dream a confused stare.

“I can’t hear you.” He mumbled. “Ringing, it’s-“ Dream put a gloved hand over his mouth before leaning his head to his chest. The side of his mask took a shock. He flinched before returning his head to George’s heart. It was racing out of his chest— even faster than should be possible.

Dream tapped the side of his face again as his eyes began to slip shut.

“No no, look at me.” He subconsciously began to rock them slowly. “Can you hear me?” He asked after a few more moments of patience.

George nodded, Dream began his best attempt at comfort. Anything to calm him down.

“Your cardiovascular system is shocked. Breathe, or you’re going to have a heart attack.” Dream rested a hand on his chest over his heart, taking visible deep breaths as his best attempt to coax George into mimicking him.

He did. His heart slowed, but not enough. He knew they wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon.

Once George’s heart speed reduced to an almost acceptable rate, Dream removed his hand from his face and allowed him to close his eyes. He leaned against the wooden beam supporting the mineshaft ceiling, and he pulled George to rest on his lower stomach.

He didn’t know what else to do— didn’t know how to comfort him, how to make him feel better. Maybe if he’d been just a little bit faster— if he’d caught the back of his jacket, then they’d be out of there by now.

“Why did you do that, George?” His arm was starting to hurt again without the constant relief of rain, and with each lightning strike, the man against him would flinch. 

“Because I thought I could make it back in time. I almost did.” Dream’s lungs forced out a sigh of frustrated acceptance. 

“You couldn’t have waited? Just thirty seconds, was that too much for you?”

“Just dealing with the way you feel with your words instead of trying to kill me, was that too much for you?” 

Dream swallowed hard, wrapping his hands around the George’s face. 

“Go to sleep.” After that, it was silent, and Dream had almost believed George listened to him. 

“I knew you’d do it too.” Confusion filled him, he moved his hands. He assumed George was referring to his violent outbreak. Had he really been so confident that he would do something so bad to him? 

It hurt. 

“I knew you’d do the same thing for me,” he clarified. “That I did for you in the cave. That’s why I helped you. Cause I knew...” Dream placed a gloved hand over his mouth. 

“George,” he tilted his head to the side, so that he could stare at the rain. “Go to sleep for me.”

His heart filled to the brim with warmth. One that wasn’t ignited by fire, but rather, by hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! Feel free to like and comment as those are greatly appreciated:)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you soooo much for reading and I really hope you liked it!
> 
> Please feel free to subscribe or bookmark for later updates, and kudos is always appreciated.
> 
> Adios and until next time


End file.
